


The Robber, the Dog, and the Little Girl

by Ellynne



Series: Walking Away [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin Hood breaks into the castle after Rumplestiltskin has given little Belle a dog. Story Takes place in my Walking Away 'verse, where Belle is a little child Rumplestiltskin has rescued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cat and dog raced through the Dark Castle, chasing a red ball.  There was a spell on it.  The ball rolled and bounced about till it was caught.  Then, if the dog had it, it went still until he trotted over to the cat and put it down in front of her (he always looked triumphantly pleased with himself when he did this).  The ball lay still till the cat nudged.  At that point, the spell sent the ball off again.  If the cat caught it, she had to take it to the dog.  She invariably swatted it back and forth between her paws, making a game of keep-away, before finally letting him at it.  He would launch himself at it before it could make another escape.  Off it flew, and the pair ran charged after it again. 

Their path had careened through various rooms and hallways till the two managed to land on the ball at the same time.  They both held onto it with their teeth, managing to yowl and growl at each other without letting go.  Then, they both lost their grips at the same time, each tumbling back, the red ball lying still between them.

The cat looked at it then glared accusingly at the dog.  The dog didn’t notice.  He nudged the ball and watched to see what would happen.  When nothing he did, he promptly lost interest and trotted off in the direction of the great hall, looking for something new to play with.

The cat swatted the ball.  It did nothing.  She glared indignantly at the dog’s retreating form.  He didn’t notice.  With an irritated meow, she ran after him.  She had almost caught up with him when there came a loud clatter from the great hall.  Both animals froze where they were, ears twitching and noses lifted to scent the air.  The dog, growling softly, went to investigate.  The cat, treading as softly as if she were sneaking up on a watchful mouse, followed.

X

Belle’s face had lit up when Rumplestiltskin presented her with the small, white terrier.  Though fully grown, he was smaller than Belle in her cat form, something Rumplestiltskin had been very careful about when making the just the right choice.  The dog had a proven liking for children and (more importantly) for cats.  His last owner had been an old woman who had lived with her niece’s family.  There had been three cats in the house and a large collection of rambunctious children.  The father of the family raised small dogs as ratters, there being a good market for those in the area. 

This dog, however, had never been trained to hunt vermin.  He spent his days playing with children or resting on the old woman’s lap.  Though barely a year old when the elderly aunt passed away, the dog-trainer was used to taking them in hand practically from the day they were born and considered him too old to bather with.  The man had been only too happy when a passing merchant had expressed an interest in the “wee beastie” and promised to take it off his hands for a couple coppers. They sealed the deal with a glass of wine, the merchant wishing the father and his family continued health in the coming year.

That wish had been worth far more than the coins, if the man only knew.  But, Rumplestiltskin had been in a benevolent mood when they made the deal, and the look on Belle’s face when he presented her with her new pet convinced him he had been right. 

“What do you want to name him?” he asked.

She smiled. “Jock,” she whispered, her voice ghost soft as it always was when pure terror didn’t give her lungs.  “Wee Jock.”

Jock.  It was a common name for the small dogs.  In Rumplestiltskin’s experience, half the breed in all the world seemed to be named Jock.  But, he could think of only one reason for Belle to know that.  “Did you ever have a dog?” he asked.  “Or know someone who did?”

For a moment, Belle’s smile faltered.  “Mama,” she said.  Then, Wee Jock yipped for attention, which Belle was only too happy to give, and she was all smiles again.

Things went well for the next few days.  Belle and Wee Jock stampeded through the castle.  Her dresses, though Rumplestiltskin and sewn them from silks, velvets, and embroidered cloths, were made for stampeding.  As for her hair, Rumplestiltskin brushed it out each morning and wove ribbons into it that kept it out of her eyes while streaming in a kaleidoscope of colors behind her.

Which was only when she was human.  It was still not as often as Rumplestiltskin would like.  He saw the white cat and the white dog chasing each other and tumbling through the gardens far more often than he saw the little girl.  Still, he thought, it was a start. 

She still wanted to be held, as a child or a cat, and became frightened if she didn’t know where he was (he came when she called, a murmured “Rum” or, more often, “Dragon-Man”).  At night, she sat patiently while he brushed out the day’s accumulation of leaves and tangles from her hair.  He always made a point, when he placed the ribbons in their box on the child-sized vanity he’d placed in her room, of never closing the lid.  It was so she would know they were waiting for the next morning, a promise that the little one would be dressed and cared for—her hair done up in ribbons—every day.  Like the fanciful dresses he made her, guarantees she would never be trapped, naked and alone, in the cold dark again.

But, now, when he tucked Belle into bed, Wee Jock curled up against her as she fell asleep, listening to Rumplestiltskin’s stories.  He still made sure to always leave a light in her room (a good thing he had magic. The lights he left her knew better than to scorch little children or burn anything except a candlewick).  But, with Wee Jock there, he could let her sleep in peace while he attended to other matters.  When she woke from nightmares, she was able to call for him instead of screaming in terror.  Usually.  The nightmares were rarer, and Wee Jock helped.

Even if they weren’t . . .  he thought of his son, out there and alone.  For all he knew, Bae was trapped in a pit even worse than Belle’s prison.  He had to come for him.  He thought of the years Belle’s own father had left her in the dark.  No matter what the cost, he couldn’t do that to Bae.  Let the boy hate him for the rest of his life, but let him know that his father had come for him.

That meant the curse had to be cast.  There was no other way, and its time was coming.  All too soon, it would be here.

The thought haunted Rumplestiltskin.  He had watched the little one last night, sleeping peacefully, a hand thrown over Wee Jock, wondering what would become of her when the curse fell.  He had to find a way to keep her safe, but how?  To even let Regina know the child existed would be to make her a pawn in the Queen’s game—one he had no doubt Regina would exploit to the utmost.  But, to abandon her to chance was even worse.

He was in his tower workroom, mixing potions and considering the problem, when he heard a clattering noise.  The spells he’d set to alert him to strangers in the castle made it sound as clear as if the source were right next to him, but Rumplestiltskin could tell it was coming from several floors away.  Somehow, someone had managed to get past the castle defenses all the way to the great hall.  But, that wasn’t what frightened him.

_Belle._

X

There were many bright and pretty things in the great hall.  Treasures, Belle called them.  Mama had had boxes full of nice, shiny things.  _Someday, Belle,_ Mama said, letting her play with a string of pearls _these will be yours._

But, Mama was gone, and Belle had been sent into the dark place.  Her dragon-man, Rum, he had taken her out of the dark.  He said she was good, and all the shiny things here were his.  This stranger was taking them—he was _stealing_ from her dragon-man.

The stranger was big, like the guards who had sometimes beaten her in the dark place.  He wore green and had a large bow, one he reached for as soon as Wee Jock’s growls turned into angry barking.

She had just enough time to realize that when Wee Jock attacked him, going after the man’s ankles with his teeth.  The man kicked Wee Jock away, sending him flying across the room.  The dog— _her_ doggy—whimpered as he hit stone.

Belle felt her hair stand up all over her.  She was afraid but she was angry, too.  _No._   No one could hurt Wee Jock here.  The dragon-man wouldn’t allow it.  He would stop the bad man.  She looked at the bad man and yowled, calling for Rum.  The man turned and saw her.   There was already an arrow set in his bow.  The bad man pointed it at her---

—And let the arrow fly.


	2. Catburgler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's POV on breaking into the Dark Castle

Normally, this would be the part of a mission where Robin told himself not to relax. Getting in, unseen, to an enemy’s stronghold was hardly easy.  Just getting close enough to make the attempt without being captured or killed was an accomplishment.  Castles had guards, guards who knew the land better than you did and knew what to look for if someone was trying to break in and how to stop them.  That, after all, was the whole point of having guards in the first place.

Once you’d gotten past them, however, you tended to relax, to forget all the dangers still to come.  That was what got thieves like Robin killed.

That wasn’t a problem in the Dark Castle.  Robin could _feel_ eyes looking for him, and there was no sound.  It wasn’t just that there were none of the creaks and groans of old house.  He heard nothing from outside, no birds or rustling of trees, not even a hint of a passing breeze.  If it weren’t for the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears, he’d have thought he’d gone deaf.  He told himself he trusted the protections he’d been given, that he knew the Dark One’s magic couldn’t see him.  Not if he was careful. Not if he avoided all the traps, the ones he’d been warned of—and the ones he hadn’t.

It was like walking through a den of half-asleep monsters.  None of them seemed to think he was worth the trouble—yet.  They watched him with drowsy eyes.  He felt their breath, warm and moist against his skin, and the damp flick of a tongue against his hand, getting an idle taste.  All the while, he was supposed to walk on, as if he truly believed he had a chance of getting out alive.

He remembered the Wicked Witch’s castle.  She’d had guards and servants.  There’d been spells around that place, too, but there was room for a person to walk down those halls if he was careful.

Here, he never forgot that he was an intruder.  One wrong step, and the watching eyes that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck would see him—even if he did everything right, if the protection he’d been given faltered for one moment or he touched one spell he wasn’t ready for, he was a dead man.

And Marian died with him, along with their child.

He reached the room called the great hall.  This, he’d been told, was the _easy_ part.  The Dark One might not love visitors but he made allowances for the fools desperate enough to deal with him.  This part of the castle might have its defenses, but the uninvited had been known to come this far and live.   

But, this was also a place for the sorcerer to show off his wealth and power.  Robin had had the place described to him in minute detail, though he’d been warned the trophies on display changed from time to time and not to let anything he saw unnerve him.  Fear—too much of it—could get him killed as easily as carelessness. 

That warning, at least, had been unnecessary.  The Dark One must be in a mellow mood.  There was nothing gruesome on display, no heads of his enemies or flayed skins of fools who had, say, broken into his castle to steal the Dark One’s treasures.  There were no goblets made out of skulls so he could drink to his dead foes.  That didn’t mean they weren’t around someplace.

Not that it mattered.  He’d seen what he’d come for. 

Or _half_ of what he’d come for.  He reminded himself that three lives were in the balance: Marian’s, their child’s—and one other.

And that life— _thousands_ depended on that life.

He would save those lives, if he could.  But, first, he had to save Marian.  He’d memorized every detail of the sketch he’d been shown and knew he was looking at the wand that would save his wife’s life.  He grabbed it from the small rack where it was displayed.

There was a deep growl behind him.  Robin turned, pulling out his bow and fitting an arrow to it, but he saw nothing.  Then, he felt teeth burying themselves in his leg.

He tried to kick it aside.  Something small and ghost-white sailed away from him.  At the same time, he heard an inhuman yowl.  There was another creature, burning eyes and white as death.  Purple smoke began to fill the room.  Robin let the arrow go just as the Dark One himself appeared.

The Dark One’s eyes went large.  If it hadn’t been impossible, Robin would have sworn he was afraid. 

The Dark One seized the ghost-white creature and vanished, reappearing a moment later across the room. 

The arrow turned and followed them.

The Dark One held the creature in front of him as the arrow hurtled at both of them.  Then, moving at a speed Robin wouldn’t have thought possible, he moved the creature aside. It plopped down on the floor as the arrow buried itself in the Dark One’s chest.

The white beast yowled in pain, though the arrow hadn’t touched it.  It was a cat, Robin realized, and the creature that had buried its teeth in him was a dog—a dog small as a newborn babe. 

Then, the cat changed.  There was a little girl in its place.  She wore a wide skirted pinafore, crazy-quilted from silks, lace, and velvets, a mix of sapphire and gold. Her blue eyes were wide with terror.  Her yowl transformed into a child’s scream.

The Dark One grabbed a handful of gold from the floor by his wheel and threw it at Robin.  The long threads lengthened, becoming a net as they flew across the room.  They hit against him with the force of a giant’s fist, knocking him down as they wrapped and tied themselves around him.

The Dark One didn’t notice, his attention on the child.  He gave the little girl a weak smile.  “Hey, now, don’t cry,” he said.  “This?  This is nothing.”  He touched the arrow, and it vanished in a puff of smoke.  “See?  Nothing to make a fret over.”  He picked her up and cradled her in his arms, murmuring reassurances to her.

That was when it hit Robin.  A child.  Robin had nearly shot a child.  And not just any child.  _The_ child, the one he’d been sent for.  Who else could she be?

The little dog had limped over.  The Dark One patted it on the head, and the dog straightened up. Its limp vanished.  It gave a happy yip. 

“There, you see?” the Dark One said.  Everything’s better.”

“Belle,” Robin said. “She’s Belle, the princess you stole.”

The dog growled.  The Dark One turned on Robin, his smile vanishing.  “Reminding me of you existence, dearie?  Unwise.  I might end it.” Then, he waved his fingers and it was Robin’s turn to vanish.

There was not the faintest hint of light.  He was lying on cold stone.  The silence was more deafening than ever.  If he hadn’t still felt the Dark One’s golden ropes around him, he might have wondered if he were dead.  Thinking about what the Dark One might have in store for him, it might be better if he were.


	3. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple has a chat with Robin about what he did and why.

When Rumplestiltskin had decided to bring Belle down to the dungeon with him, he had been angry with the thief and wanted him to see the child he had almost killed.  But, the further down they went, the more he regretted it.  Belle pressed close against him, so he could feel her shiver.

“We can go back, if you’d like,” he told her.  “You don’t have to come near him.”

Belle, however, shook her head.  Her curls bounced and her small rainbow of ribbons fluttered about.  Her eyes were hard and determined—too hard for such a small child.  “No.” Her thin voice was firm.  Then, she looked at him pleadingly, all the hardness gone.  “Please?”

He ruffled her hair and led her further into the bowels of his castle, wondering how big a mistake he was making.

X

Holding tight to her Dragon Man, Belle thought of the long, long walk when the guards came to take her away from Mama and led her to the dark room.  It hadn’t been like this, she told herself.  It had been _nothing_  like this.  The guards had gone up and up, higher and higher.  She remembered the sunlight.  It was morning, and Papa’s castle was full of windows.  It had been so pretty, but she had been too scared to look at it.  The guards hadn’t hurt it yet, but they were scary.  She thought about the pretty sunlight when she was alone in the dark, wishing she could see it again, but she never did—not till the Dragon Man came for her.

This was the Dragon Man’s castle.  It wasn’t like Papa’s.  This was the Dragon Man’s home, and he told her nothing would hurt her here.

But, when they stopped in front of a door—a big, dark door. It wasn’t like the closet door.  Not even a little.

She wouldn’t be scared.

The Dragon Man waved his hand, and the door opened.  They went inside.

“It’s dark,” Belle whispered, holding tight and trying not to think of being locked in the closet.  “It’s _dark_.”

X

Robin lay uncomfortably on the stones for what seemed like a long time, although he knew from experience how deceptive time in a dungeon could be.  He could roll a little but, after a little thought, decided there were safer things than rolling around in the Dark One’s dungeons till he ran into whatever else might be here with him.  Instead, he tried to move his hands, to find a weak place in his bonds so he could get free, not that it was working.  It was next to hopeless, but he thought of Marian and what would happen to her if he failed.  He kept trying.

Finally, the door opened.  Robin winced at the light coming in.  A thin, quavering voice said, “It’s dark.”

Immediately, torches lit all around the room.  Robin winced at the light, waiting for his eyes to adjust.  When they did, he saw the Dark One, the flames reflecting off his glittering scales.  Clutching his leather trousers and peering out from behind him was the girl—the girl Robin had almost killed.

She was even smaller than he’d thought and her face was as pale as the fur of the cat she’d been.  Whatever the Dark One’s reasons for stealing the child and bespelling her, he seemed to be treating her well.  Her clothes were as rich and fantastical as the Dark One’s, and her hair cascaded with ribbons.  From the way she held onto him, it was clear she trusted him to keep her safe from Robin—for her, _he_ was the monster in the dark, not the creature beside her.

The Dark One made a gesture with his hand.  The strands from the gold net came slithering off and rushed towards the wizard, gathering into a ball of golden yarn in his hand.  At the same time, Robin went flying back towards the wall.  Manacles jumped out and clamped around his wrists, chaining him against the stones.  Meanwhile, the Dark One tossed the ball of yarn up into the air, where it vanished in a burst of sparkling lights.

“All right, dearie,” the wizard said. “Time to tell me what you were doing in my castle.”

X

Rumplestiltskin thought he had his anger under control until he saw the thief.  Then, it was all he could do not to smash him to pulp against the wall.  _The little one wouldn’t like it_.

Besides, he needed information.  Someone had helped this thief get in here, someone with magic. 

“Tell me what you were doing in my castle.”

The thief was afraid, though doing a fair job at hiding it.  He was also managing not to panic, not yet.  He was holding onto reason like an anchor in the storm.  Rumplestiltskin could almost see the calculations going through the man’s mind.  Lie?  The Dark One had a fine ear for falsehoods.  Stay silent?  How long before the truth was broken out of him.  Tell the truth, then?

The man licked his dry lips and tried to keep his voice steady. “I was hired to find the princess of the Marchlands, Belle of Omelas, the one they say you stole.”

“Liar!”

Belle had popped out from behind Rumplestiltskin, her childish face ablaze with fury.  “Nobody stole me!  Papa called him.  You—” Belle struggled to find words to match her feelings.  “—you’re a _bad man!_ ”

Rumplestiltskin ruffled her hair and turned his attention back to the thief.  “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said.  Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he smashed the thief to pulp. . . .  But, no.  He needed answers.  And the thief seemed to believe what he’d said, for whatever that was worth.  So, who had been telling tales about the Dark One this time? “Strange as it no doubt sounds, she’s telling the truth.  I was the one rescuing damsels in distress this time.  Not my usual line.  It turned out to be not nearly as hard as the heroes make out.  I can’t imagine why they natter on about it.  But, that still doesn’t answer my question.  What were you supposed to do with the princess when you found her?  Shoot her?”

“No!” The thief looked properly horrified.  “I didn’t know that was her.  I thought—the dog bit me and I saw another beast.  I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t.  If you aren’t an assassin, what were you doing? Were you going to get her signature on a royal decree?  Deliver a late birthday present?  What?”

“Omelas needs its princess.”

“Too bad.  They’ll have to do without.”  Rumplestiltskin spoke lightly but, inside, he went cold.  They knew Belle was here and someone (he had some ideas about who) wanted her back. 

And the thief looked at him, all earnest innocence.  Was he that stupid?  Or that depraved?  Did he honestly think Rumplestiltskin didn’t care what would happen to Belle in that place?  Or did he—just possibly—not know?

“What did they tell you?  Do you understand why they want her so badly?”

“There’s a spell,” the thief said, as earnest as ever.  “It protects the Marchlands.  It’s centered in the royal family.  When the king died and the princess was taken away, it was broken.”

“And did they explain _how_ the spell works?” The thief looked at him blankly.  Rumplestiltskin gave a melodramatic sigh.  Or he tried to.  It came out as more of a growl. “All magic has a price, dearie.  Did anyone happen to tell you what this one was?”

The thief looked confused, like a man who knows he’s being lured into a trap but can’t imagine where it is.  “I’m not a wizard.  I—I know it’s not an easy spell to make.  They can’t do it, not without the princess.”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin snarled. “They can’t.  And they won’t.  And who are ‘they’?  Who told you about the spell?  Who told you to get Belle?”

“It wasn’t an enemy.  It was a fairy.  No one’s trying to hurt her.”  He said it so sincerely, Rumplestiltskin thought.  The picture of innocence.  As if knowing a _fairy_ wanted Belle made everything all right.  The thief must be one of the many fools who thought, if one of those winged nuisances said it, it must be so.  The man went on, reeking of good intentions.  “You don’t understand.  The harvest failed.  The city’s in danger.  They—”

“No, you don’t understand.  Which fairy?  Reul Ghorm?  The Blue Fairy?”

“Not her.  The Yellow Fairy.  What does it matter?  Omelas—”

“Don’t pretend you did this out of the goodness of your heart, dearie.  That was something else, wasn’t there?”  An easy guess.  He’d taken back the wand the thief had tried to steal.  It was a fairy wand, one that had taken more than a little work on Rumplestiltskin’s part to get ahold of without killing one of Blue’s petty sycophants in the process.  He despised the little insects as much as they loathed him, but the war between them had cooled over the centuries.  He hadn’t seen any reason to bring it to a boil by killing one of Blue’s underlings, not yet.  Apparently, Blue didn’t feel the same.  Unless Yellow had chosen to act on her own?  She was an ambitious bug, by all accounts, with a tendency towards petty backstabbing.

He saw that same calculation in the thief’s eyes he’d seen at the beginning.  Lies? Silence? Truth? Only, this time, when he chose truth, Rumplestiltskin could see his fear.  Fairies could fend for themselves, but this—this was something he wanted to protect.

“My wife,” the thief said.  Rumplestiltskin heard the desperation in his voice, as desperate as a father who would walk into a burning castle to save his son. “My wife is dying.  The Yellow Fairy said she could save her if I got her that wand and rescued the child.”

 _Rescued._ He believed that, he genuinely believed that. 

By all the gods, the man was _pleading_ with him.  He believed every word he was saying.  He’d come to rescue a princess and the woman he loved, to save an entire kingdom.  And he desperately hoped the Dark One would take pity on him and let his lover live.

Well, why not?  Rumplestiltskin smiled.  The thief turned a shade paler.  “Your sad tale has moved me, dearie, but you can’t have the princess.  I promised to look after her, and the Dark One never goes back on a deal.  However, I’m willing to let your wife live in return for a very _small_ thing.”  He giggled. Oh, yes, a _very_ small thing.  “I’ll bring the wand.  You summon the fairy.  I think I have a much better understanding of that spell than she does.”

The man was desperate but (as Rumplestiltskin had already observed) he wasn’t stupid. “Light and dark magic don’t go together.  What do you want with a fairy?”

Rumplestiltskin put a protective arm around Belle.  “Just because my magic isn’t like theirs doesn’t mean I know nothing about it.  I think there’s a great deal I could teach that fairy about how that spell works, a great deal indeed.  You have my word, I won’t do anything to her beyond that.  Do we have a deal?”

The thief must have some sense of honor.  He weighed out his answer before giving it.  “If you so promise—and if you promise you won’t harm my wife or our child, then you have a deal.”

“Agreed.”

Rumplestiltskin looked down at Belle.  He wouldn’t do anything worse than show the fairy how the spell worked—a spell that tortured its victims and ended in their deaths.

Yes, he could think of many ways to teach the Yellow Fairy all about that. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not go the way I was expecting. The ending was a complete surprise to me. Still, the Yellow Fairy should have known better than to go after Belle.

**Author's Note:**

> Wee Jock is a reference to the dog belonging to Robert Carlyle's character in Hamish Macbeth.


End file.
